


Carry On

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Against their will, Blowjobs, Forced non-con, Fuck Or Die, Non Consensual, wall-sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Bondkink prompt: Silva captures Bond and Mallory and in a fuck-or-die scenario Mallory has to top Bond. James takes it like a man. Can focus just on Bond/Mallory or can include Silva watching and getting off on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the portion of Skyfall where Silva's escaped, but Bond and M haven't left for Scotland yet. Okay, that time was like two seconds, but in my mind there's enough time for Silva to capture Bond and Mallory and haul them off somewhere.

“You want me to _what_?” Mallory’s incredulity shows in spite of himself. The man can’t be serious. But he’s read Silva’s file, well, it was another name then, but still. He knows the man is capable of horrific acts. He just never expected this.

He glances at Bond, who’s kneeling on the floor, hands bound behind his back, watching them both silently.

“You heard me.” Silva says smoothly.

He’s amused by this, the bastard.

“You have the choice,” Silva repeats, “Fuck him, or I will kill you both.”

* * *

Mallory’s gone pale. He’s horrified by the suggestion. Bond can’t blame him. The whole thing makes him want to laugh, until he does, bitterness seeping out of his throat until he sounds like a strangled cat.

Both men look at him.

Bond shrugs his shoulders, as well as he can with his wrists bound. “Oh give him, what he wants.” He juts his chin up slightly at Silva. Not quite a challenge, but not submissive either. “It’s hardly my first time.”

* * *

As if Mallory didn’t know _that_ as well. He’s read Bond’s file too. He prefers to keep his future house in order. That’s what’s really troubling him, he supposes. What will Bond think, when he realizes this man will be his superior in the years to come?

That is, if they survive this.

He gazes down at Bond, who’s looking up at him, those unfathomable blue eyes, steady as ever. It steadies Mallory, makes him straighten his shoulders.

“It’d be easier if he were standing.” Mallory says at last. “My knees aren’t as good as they used to be.” He can do this. Whether he’ll be able to look Bond in the eye again, that’s another matter.

Silva makes an impatient gesture so Mallory goes to Bond, pulling him by the shoulders.

They’re in a small room, bare save for a chair that Silva’s claimed for himself. He’s perfectly at ease, sitting there, hands folded placidly in his lap as he regards them.

“Well?”

Mallory licks his lips. There’s nothing to ease this for Bond, nothing to make it less than what it is.

He tries to ignore Silva’s presence, pressing Bond up against the wall, facing him at first as he quickly undoes agent’s trousers quickly. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner it’ll be over. He can feel Bond’s eyes on him as he pushes Bond’s trousers and briefs down.

Mallory hesitates when he sees Bond’s cock, eyes narrowing, then flicking up to meet Bond’s, assessing the situation.

Bond has nothing to offer. He wishes he could tell Mallory not to worry concern himself over this. He can see it in the man’s eyes, the quiet worry that this will somehow break Bond.

“Gentlemen, I have known dogs that rut faster than this.” Silva breaks the silence impatiently.

“Why don’t you fetch a pair of them in then?” Mallory snaps back, his hand pausing on Bond’s hip for a moment.

Silva leans back in his chair, considering it. “I don’t think you’d like it very much if I did.”

Mallory doesn’t want to read anything into that, so he focuses once more on Bond. He faces him straight on, like the soldier he was. Even if it’s been a while since he was in the field, he can do this.

There’s barely a glance between them, but Bond nods, and turns, facing the wall.

Mallory takes a deep breath and parts his cheeks, fingertips slipping across Bond’s hole.

“He has no need of that.” Silva says casually, crossing his legs leisurely.

Mallory pauses. “It’ll,” No excuse is good enough. Obviously Silva doesn’t care if it’s easier on Bond.

“In you go,” Silva chides him and Mallory moves his hand, spitting into his palm instead. At least Silva makes no object to that.

* * *

Bond tries not to shiver as Mallory’s barely wetted cock nudges between his cheeks. It’s not his first time. That wasn’t a lie. It’s not even his first time rough, but it’s the first time with a partner who wasn’t willing to do this. And Bond is sorry for that. He can guess at the reasons behind Mallory’s reluctance, and marvels at the man’s mettle.

His chest is braced against the wall, Bond’s head turned, away from Silva, facing the blank wall.

Mallory has one hand on his hip, the other on his shoulder. He squeezes Bond’s shoulder for a second, a brief warning, and then he pushes in.

Bond grits his teeth and takes it. The pain recedes as he tries to relax, to accept the cock breaching him.

* * *

Mallory’s fingers dig into his shoulders as the man thrusts hastily. The quicker he’s done, the sooner it’ll be done with and they can move forward. He knows he should slow down, to make sure Bond can take it, but he can’t. His hips jerk in rapid thrusts; Mallory watches his cock moving in and out of Bond’s backside. There’s something mesmerizing about it, the way Bond almost clings to him, reluctant to release his cock.

Mallory’s breathing faster and faster. Bond rests his cheek against the wall, biting back a moan as the man hits a spot deep inside him. He doesn’t want to enjoy any of this, especially in front of Silva.

Mallory grunts under his breath, his hand on Bond’s hip suddenly harsh, grasping him, and then Bond can’t contain the faint murmur fleeing his tongue as Mallory comes, filling him.

Mallory rests there for barely a moment, before slipping out of Bond. He fastens his own trousers first, ignoring the way his semen is seeping down Bond’s thighs, before reaching down to help Bond with his own.

He turns to face Silva at last. “There.” It’s done.

The smile that Silva gives him is not the slightest bit reassuring.

* * *

Silva stands, approaching them. “You look weary, here.” He takes Mallory’s arm, urging him towards the chair. “Sit."

Mallory sinks into the chair, his legs suddenly unsteady.

Silva reaches for Bond, hauling him forward by the hair. He pulls Bond over to Mallory, pushing him to his knees. “Make him hard again.”

Bond gazes up at him in distaste even as Mallory starts.

“This is,”

“Do you want me to see his throat cut open?” Silva inquires; his voice is soft and gentle as if perhaps this truly is what Mallory desires. “I could slit it here with my knife,” he places two fingers to Bond’s throat, “And let you fuck his throat like that, how would that be?”

Mallory swallows. “No.”

“Well then,” Silva spreads his hands wide.

Bond tries to steady himself on his knees as Mallory fumbles with getting his trousers unbuttoned again. His fingers don’t seem to work, but at last he manages it. His shaft is spent, just lying there.

Bond just shuffles forward on his knees. “This would be easier with my hands untied.”

“Of course it would,” Silva rests his hand on top of Bond’s hair, “but that is not the point, now is it, James?”

Bond shrugs his hand off and leans forward. He starts slow. It’ll take work to get Mallory hard enough to satisfy Silva’s perverse desires. Bond has a pretty good idea of what will happen after that, even if Mallory doesn’t seem to have guessed it yet. For now, he focuses solely on the cock in front of him.

Mallory spreads his legs, allowing him better access and Bond settles more comfortably between his thighs.

* * *

It feels like he sucks Mallory’s cock forever. His jaw is aching by the time he’s done, but there it is, upright last. Mallory watched him the whole time with a look Bond couldn’t identify, and didn’t dare try. He doesn’t need to know what Mallory is using to survive this. Bond is all too well aware of the methods the mind constructs in situations where it’s impossible to do anything else.

He sits back on his knees, breathing deep of the stale air in the room. The taste of the man fills his mouth, not to mention the faint hint of himself. Distractedly, Bond wonders whether he’ll need to get tested after this, or if Mallory is clean.

It seems there will have to be an awkward conversation after this is all taken care of. He’s not looking forward to that.

* * *  
Silva tugs at Bond’s hair cruelly, pushing his head down to the floor, arse aimed upward. Bond tenses, and Silva murmurs something as he strokes his hair and releases him.

“Now you will fuck him again.” Silva says. “And this time, I want to hear him.”

Mallory gazes at him with utter loathing, but he obeys. They’ve come this far. There’s no point in stopping now.

Bond’s bent over, his face nearly touching the floor as Mallory enters him. He winces, but he lets the small grunt of pain escape him. There’s little to be gained from holding back now, not if what Silva wants is to hear him suffer. In all honesty, Bond had thought it would easier to hold back, but the cries slip from his lips as though they were going to whether he allowed them or not.

It’s not enough to satisfy Silva, that much is obvious. Mallory can tell. Abruptly, he pulls out, ignoring the moan from the man beneath him, forcing himself back in. He does this again and again until Bond’s rasps have settled into a steady stream of helpless wordless pain.

Silva’s smiling, and Mallory slows, but only slightly, tilting his hips, rocking into Bond, twisting the pain further into sharp, agony.

* * *

Each jolt is worse than the previous one; each movement inside him tears a little more. Bond’s lightheaded, distant. The room is very small now around him. There is only the hand on his back and the cock moving inside him. The pain splinters and spreads, needle pricks covering his body.

Mallory gasps over him, and Bond feels the man’s cock pulse and release inside him.

When Mallory withdraws from him, he sobs.

* * *

They are returned to their separate cells and Mallory doesn’t know how long it is before they’re rescued.

He only knows he spends the hours sitting very still upon the cot in the corner of the cell, hands clasped in front of him, wondering what he’s supposed to do next.

In the days that follow after the rescue, he doesn’t see much of Bond. The 00 agent is in the hospital for a week, under strict surveillance, and Mallory decides it’ll be better to keep away.

* * *

It was hard enough facing M. Not an ordeal Mallory would like to repeat.

“If you think I should step down,” Mallory hesitates, unsure of why the words even crossed his lips. He can’t do that. Moreover, he wouldn’t.

“You can hardly do that,” she says. They both know it’s true. “Besides, he’d never expect it.” The agents are the disposable ones, though neither of them says that aloud.

“How am I to,” Mallory presses his lips together. What is he supposed to _do_ with Bond now?

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” M says dryly.

But when he just looks at her, she places her hand over his. “He’s stronger than you think.”

“I’m afraid I damaged him more than he’ll admit.” Mallory murmurs.

“Then mend it.” M squeezes his hand, and sits back. “Christ, I could do with a drink.”

Mallory pours them both one.

* * *

After Skyfall.

After M’s death.

After all of it, it’s worse.

* * *

Bond faces him in his office, says he’s fit for duty, with pleasure, all that, yes sir, happy to carry on.

Mallory doesn’t believe a word of it.

There are lines around Bond’s eyes that he fears he put there, the strain to his body, the exhaustion in his shoulders. All of this, Mallory feels responsible for, even though logically he knows it’s not his fault.

“You needn’t,” he bites back the words even as Bond merely gazes back at him, his face blank as ever.

“Needn’t what?” Bond asks.

“Pretend that nothing happened.”

“I think that’s best, don’t you, sir?” Bond says softly.

“I think you should take a two month break, and come back when,”

“When I’m better?” Bond’s smile is wry, and Mallory wishes he’d kept his damn mouth shut. “As if that will help.”

“Well.” Mallory sighs. “In any case, here,” He reaches for the bottle of scotch standing on the shelf behind his desk. He pours them each a drink and hands one to Bond.

“What are we drinking to?”

“To a new start?”

“Why?” Bond inquires.

Mallory pauses. “I would have thought, after that ordeal, you’d prefer it.”

Bond stares at the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it round the ice. “You did what needed to be done.” He looks up at Mallory squarely. “And if our positions had been switched, I’d have done exactly the same.”

“Is that so?” Mallory murmurs, but he believes Bond.

“To the future,” Bond holds up his glass, a peace offering for a war that was never theirs.

“To the future,” Mallory clinks his glass against Bond’s.

They drink, eyes upon each other.


End file.
